Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAMQ63JE6RFBDDSMRB2X7K

**Title: *The Great Toy Heist*** The neon glow of the party’s disco ball pulsed like a dying star, casting jagged shadows across the floor. Molly adjusted her sunglasses—*not* because of the light, but because she wanted to look like a villain in a bad action movie. Bill, meanwhile, was already sweating through his "Santa’s Little Helper" T-shirt, which was now stained with what might or might not have been a spilled drink. "Okay, new plan," Bill said, voice cracking like a bad karaoke performance. "We go in through the kitchen. No one’s supposed to be there, right?" Molly rolled her eyes. "You’re the one who said ‘no one’s supposed to be there’ when we were sneaking past the security guard at the front door." "Details!" Bill groaned, flopping onto the couch like a deflated balloon. "I was *so* close to getting a free candy bar!" Molly leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We’re not here for candy bars. We’re here for the *presents*. The *real* ones. The ones that don’t get eaten by the kids before they even open them." Bill’s eyes widened. "You’re serious?" "Dead serious," Molly said, pulling out her phone. "I’ve been tracking the shipment. The party’s got a *forty-two* gift bags, and they’re all in the basement. The kind of basement that looks like it’s been abandoned by a haunted house." Bill’s jaw dropped. "You’re telling me we’re going to steal *forty-two* presents from a *children’s party*?" Molly smirked. "And you’re telling me you’re not up for it." Bill groaned. "I’m not even sure I can lift a single gift bag without getting arrested." "Then we’ll just *steal* them," Molly said, tossing him a pair of duct tape. "And then we’ll *hide* them in the park until the cops forget about the party." Bill caught the tape and stared at it like it was a nuclear weapon. "You’re *insane*." "Maybe," Molly admitted. "But I’m *smart*." Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you." Molly grinned. "Deal. Now—*where’s the basement entrance?*" Bill pointed. "Over there. Behind the *very* suspicious-looking trash can." Molly nodded. "Perfect. Let’s go before someone notices we’re *not* supposed to be here." As they crept toward the trash can, Bill’s foot caught on a loose floorboard. "Oh, *great*," he muttered. "Now we’re *definitely* getting caught." Molly didn’t even look back. "Good luck, *idiot.*" And with that, they vanished into the night—just as the party’s DJ suddenly dropped the beat and started playing *"Baby Shark."*